Everyone is bound to have a Graham Norton “Red Chair” story. You know, the one that you would tell the world and its mother should you be lucky (or unlucky) enough to sit on Norton’s chair, telling an oul’ embarrassing tale, knowing you will be be judged by it. What happens when it’s not morto enough, not humorous enough, or you are just an awful storyteller? Then it is very likely Norton or a celebrity guest will grab the lever and you will be flung backwards for viewers to see your knickers. Should I be given the opportunity to walk away from the chair in one piece, I would confess my first time… with my left foot.

It was my 11th birthday, and to celebrate we got a bouncy castle slide. A young hun, delira and excira with life, I called my mum out to show her my agile skills on the slide, in my PJs, about two hours before my friends arrived.

“MUM! MUM! Look at me!” I demanded, being a skillage in the village, jumping three feet on the top of the slide, ready for take off.

“WAHHHHHOOOOOO EWWWWWWW!”

I did a high jump from the top of the slide, and midway down from the PATHWAY OF DESTRUCTION, my lack of socks proved to be near fatal. I landed on my bum. My foot stuck onto the slide material, unbudging, and colliding abruptly with my vag, creating the most painful thing I have ever experienced.

Turns out that my flexibility, inability to control my then-lanky self and my forever pointed feet (thanks, ballet) had all led up to that moment.

That’s right. My left foot popped my cherry, while my mum watched. It was a bloodbath. I didn’t even know what a period was at the tender age of 11. They did not teach cherry popping via bouncy castle in my sex ed. Why not though? Apparently it’s a perfectly valid way to do it.

It was the morning of my 11th birthday, before 30 kids came to the house for my party. My left ankle was sprained and bandaged. My cherry was popped. My soul crushed.

If that does not make you shudder, I honestly don’t know what will.

You’d think that after such a traumatising event, I’d learn my lesson. Nope. (Please see images of me a few years later.) Although, if you look closely, there is a very genuine fear on my face.

It wasn’t all bad. At least I didn’t have to worry about blood for my first “proper” time!

So, if I relayed this story to Graham, et al., do you reckon I’d walk scot-free or I’d get the boot?